


Of Tuxedos and Masks

by sarahcada



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrien being an anime geek is canon, Aged-Up Character(s), Established Relationship, F/M, Jealous Adrien Agreste, Makeouts, nothing too sinful, post-reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-21 16:31:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6058270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahcada/pseuds/sarahcada
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Marinette daydreams about tuxedos and roses and moonlit masks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Tuxedos and Masks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wintermoth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wintermoth/gifts), [gigiree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigiree/gifts), [Thelastpilot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thelastpilot/gifts), [Inkkerfuffle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkkerfuffle/gifts).



“You’re not really all that much of a klutz, you know.”

Marinette snorts, and for a fleeting second, she remembers the time when the one who gave exaggerated compliments was Chat Noir, when the one who snorted at him was Ladybug, and when Marinette’s only response to Adrien’s voice was to sigh stupidly.

Oh, how time flies.

“Adrien,” she deadpans into her phone, “have you _seen_ me?”

“Yes, and you’re beautiful.”

Marinette rolls her eyes, even though she knows he can’t see it.

“I can hear you rolling your eyes,” he tells her with a laugh. “But, really, you’re not a klutz. You’re just expressive and full of energy and you…happen to…hit things when you get carried away sometimes.”

“I am pretty sure that’s the definition of a klutz.”

He laughs again, a melodious sound, before he breaks into a yawn. Marinette frowns as she glances at the clock. It’s almost midnight, which means that he’s been fully awake for almost twenty-four hours, working a dawn photoshoot, then a high-class breakfast, then school, fencing, some meetings, yet another photoshoot, and a charity gala, which landed him getting home only a few minutes ago. Marinette wonders if he’d even changed out of his tuxedo yet.

“You should get some sleep,” she tells him. “You’re exhausted.”

“In a bit. Your voice is soothing.”

“Oh my god, you’re such a sap!”

“Only for you.”

His voice is slurring a little, but Marinette can clearly hear his smile over the phone. There’s a sound of shuffling cloth on his end, too, and she hopes he’s making himself comfortable on his bed. (She also hopes he’s changed into something more comfortable than stiff formal wear.)

“C’mon, then,” he prompts, “tell me more about your Sailor Moon rewatch revelations.”

“Aside from how Usagi and I are both klutzes?”

“I still disagree. You’re not a klutz. Also, Usagi is on a whole different level of klutziness.”

“Well, there’s the fact that we’re both usually late for school.”

“There is that.”

“We both wear our hair in two parts.”

“I like your pigtails more than her _odango_ ones.”

“And we both have super hot boyfriends.”

She fully expects him to take that bait, to hum lowly and flirt through a smirk while he waggles his eyebrows. Or, it can go the other way it usually goes when he’s tired from work— he might say that he’s not all that great, scratching the back of his neck as he does so.

Instead of either possibility, though, there is only silence.

“Adrien?” she whispers after a moment.

“Yeah, I’m still here,” he says flatly.

Marinette hesitates, and she briefly considers just hanging up to force him to sleep, but decides that his uninterested tone must mean that he’s well on his way to dozing off. Well, she’d do what she can to hurry that along, then.

“Did you know that Mamoru’s name in the English dub is Darien?” she asks. “It’s almost exactly your name, except the first two letters are switched.”

“…I wouldn’t wear such an ugly jacket.”

“Of course you wouldn’t, Monsieur Model,” Marinette giggles. “But, I happen to like green.”

“His taste in clothes is still atrocious.”

“But a _tuxedo_ , though.” Marinette sighs, imagining Adrien at the gala earlier tonight. He must have looked so very dashing, and she again feels no small amount of disappointment that he couldn’t bring a date, this time— and it has nothing to do with not being able to meet world-class designers.

“What he’s wearing actually isn’t a tuxedo; it’s a white tie dinner suit,” Adrien points out. And before Marinette can laugh at how technical he’s being, he continues: “Plus, he’s got the useless cape. Capes are hazardous to superheroing. Ask Edna Mode.”

“He needs that cape for panache,” Marinette explains, and she thinks about how Chat Noir doesn’t need a cape to look impressive. Every hair on his head, every fibre of his being, is infused with flair— the kind that she can’t help but think to be elegantly and unbearably attractive.

She thinks about roses, and how Chat Noir occasionally gives her one with a bow, a flourish, and a kiss to the back of her hand.

She thinks about masks. While Tuxedo Mask’s white one does highlight his blue eyes, Marinette prefers Chat Noir’s, especially how they make him even more catlike, and accentuate the glint in his eyes.

And his _voice_. Marinette can just drown in his voice forever.

“Marinette?” that voice floats into her ears through her thoughts. And a wonderful voice, it truly is. A dreamy sigh escapes Marinette again. “What are you thinking about?”

“A tall genius with nice shoulders and enigmatic eyes hidden behind a mask…”

“Hey. Stop.”

“Hm… Make me.”

A grunt, a clatter, and, suddenly, the line goes dead.

Marinette confusedly blinks up at her ceiling before she pulls her phone away from her ear and sits up in her bed.

What just happened?

Well, Adrien hung up on her, obviously, but…

“Really, Marinette,” Tikki scolds from the foot of her bed. ”Gushing about another man to your boyfriend, of all people.”

“What?” Marinette asks, wide-eyed. “What do you mean? I didn’t— I mean, Chat Noir and Adrien are the same person!”

“Of course I know they’re the same person,” Tikki answers, narrowing her eyes at her human. “Hold on, are you saying that you were sighing about Chat Noir?”

“I was,” Marinette confirms slowly. “Who else would I be sighing ab— Wait, do you think Adrien thought I was— about _Tuxedo Mask_?”

“It sure sounded like it.”

Oh god.

Adrien, NO.

Marinette scrambles for her phone—despite the fact that she never actually let go of it—and hurriedly redials Adrien’s number. She barely notices as Tikki floats down to the lower part of the room, probably to let Marinette panic and fix things by herself.

His phone rings.

How very Marinette to manage making the love of her life jealous (probably) of another mask-clad superhero, when she was actually daydreaming about said love of her life’s superhero self, while being on the phone with… said love of her life’s civilian self.

It’s almost as confusing as that time when Adrien didn’t notice her because he’s actually Chat Noir who is in love with Ladybug who ignored him because she’s actually Marinette who’s in love with Adrien.

His phone is still ringing.

Marintte ends the call, already considering asking Tikki for help so that Ladybug can pay Adrien a visit and explain. But, Adrien might not appreciate an ambush, either. He’d had a long day, he’s exhausted and sleepy and—

Marinette jumps as her balcony door flings open, bathing her bed with the moonlight, and a very awake Chat Noir drops onto her mattress in a crouch—

“Chat—“

—and _pounces_.

Marinette is only given a split-second to catch the sheen of his green eyes—she didn’t even have the chance to actually _see_ what kind of expression he’s wearing—before her eyelids slam shut at the familiar warmth that courses through her from his kiss. He hasn’t even touched her anywhere aside from her lips, hovering over her on all fours as he was, but he’s enveloped her and claimed her, and Marinette feels herself melting into him like she usually does—

Except that there’s something she needs to clarify before she can let herself enjoy this.

Gently, she places a palm on his chest and applies a fraction of strength to push him away. He obliges her, and she takes a moment to marvel at how he’s always sensitive to her boundaries, even when he’s feeling particularly assertive or passionate.

“Listen,” she says to the bell on his neck, because she doesn’t think she can be coherent while looking into his eyes. “About Tuxedo—“

The rest of her sentence disappears into a shuddering gasp when his lips latch on _that spot_ on the bottom her neck that always renders her speechless. She clings to his shoulders— _such nice shoulders_ —and she wonders if he’s focusing his attention on her neck to give her mouth a chance to continue talking. Except… _well_ …with the way he’s giving his _attention_ , he must know that he’s robbed her of the ability to utter even a single word.

Unless, of course, that word is his name.

She doesn’t even know which of his names she breathes out, but whichever it was, he finds it satisfactory, because she can feel his grin on her skin. He presses feather-light pecks on his way up her neck, his cat ears brushing her cheeks as he goes, and skims her jaw with the masked bridge of his nose. He rewards her waiting lips with a full kiss— and another— and another— alternating between sweet and needy, giving and demanding. And then he angles his head _just so_ and takes her lower lip between his teeth, and Marinette is falling, falling, falling….

_Mon Dieu…!_

Chat Noir pulls away, a separation of contact so soft compared to the intensity of the last few minutes. Marinette is overwhelmed by the combination of fevered lightheadedness, sharp disappointment, and staggering gratitude for being able to keep her sanity; she almost collapses into her pillows, but the sudden presence of his hand on her back prevents it. She only then realizes that it’s the first time she’s felt his hands since he arrived. Were they really just resting on her mattress this whole time?

She finally looks up at him, dazedly taking in that look in his eyes. It’s a mixture of feral possessiveness and pride, and on other days she would be chiding him for being so satisfied with himself, but tonight, she’s so very satisfied with him, too, so she’ll let that slide.

Maybe.

Possibly for only 10 seconds.

“So…” he begins, and _god_ , she wants to wipe that familiar smirk off his luscious, highly kissable lips. “Got anything else to say about Tux Boy?”

Marinette blinks.

“Tuh— Who?”

His smirk widens even more, and Marinette decides that enough is enough. She may not currently have the mental capacity to figure out why he’s so smug, but she can sure as hell fist his hair and pull him in for another kiss.


	2. Of Sailors and Moons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t want to do it, initially, but this thing barrelled into me and I couldn’t dodge it. I would like to thank tumblr users @soundofez and @ohbuckyyouresofine for parts of the dialogue.

He still doesn’t know where he got the energy—he’d been so ready to collapse into his bed just half an hour ago, and the stubborn determination to at least _hear_ Marinette’s voice before he’s dead to the world was the only thing that allowed him to hold onto consciousness for a little while longer.

He knows where he got the motivation. Jealousy is a powerful elixir, after all. (And, yes, Adrien is self-aware enough to admit that he’d been jealous. Of a fictional character. So sue him.) But motivation and actual, physical, sustaining energy aren’t always the same thing, and yet, there he’d gone, bounding across the Parisian skyline, his veins pumping adrenalin fuelled by possessiveness.

That adrenalin is gone, however, instantly dissipated by Marinette’s calming presence.

He’d known it would happen, and the plan was that Chat Noir would knock that tuxedo-clad loser out of his pedestal, fill Marinette’s consciousness with the correct masked hero, and then leap out of her skylight again, leaving her hot and bothered and waiting in anticipation for when they’d see each other again… all in the span of five minutes. Any longer than that, and he’d probably faint.

That was the plan.

Except…things do not always go according to plan.

He’d gotten as far as having Marinette softly panting and unaware of anything else as she stared at his lips. But before he could even fully appreciate his triumph, he was reminded that Marinette, His Lady, has had plenty of experience in coming up with plans, herself.

It’s not painful when she tugs on his hair, but the sharp sensation is a stark contrast to the softness of her lips, and it ignites all his nerve endings, from his scalp all the way to every single one of his extremities. If any cell in his body was still sleeping, they’re surely awake now.

Always mind-boggling, how Marinette, the darling girl who was trying to persuade him to sleep, is the self-same beguiling creature that’s setting him ablaze.

Even though this isn’t the way things were supposed to go, he can’t bring himself to complain. Not when Marinette leans back into the her pillows. taking him with her. Not when she arches her back to press herself against him. Not when she she breaks the kiss just so she can wrap her lips around his name.

It’s “ _Chaton_ ,” this time. Earlier, she’d breathed, “ _Minou._ ”  He wonders which name he can draw out from her, next.

He runs a hand down her side and, gloved as it was, he still feels a change in texture, and he knows that his claw had slipped under her shirt. He drags it across her skin, gentle enough to not cause pain, but hard enough to make her hiss. He can’t help the smug smirk that lifts the corners of his lips. He presses it onto the corner of her jaw.

“Better than Tux Boy any day, aren’t I?”

“…Mmm, ‘course you are,” she hums against his earlobe, “but I was talking about you.”

He stops. Moves away.

She whines. Tries to pull him back to her.

“Wait. What?”

She sighs languidly at how he’s slow on the uptake, her eyes half-lidded as if she’s the one who’s sleep-deprived.

“You’re tall,” she begins, lifting her fingers to his forehead and burying them in his hair from there— “and intelligent,” —her nails rake down his cranium— “with strong _,_ sturdy shoulders…” —fingertips skitter down the exposed sliver of skin of his neck, then up again on his cheekbones.

Her blue eyes pierce his, and she lets that action fill the pause.

“And who _else_ would I be fantasizing about aside from you, and…well…the civilian you?”

Hold on.

Hold on just one second.

So that whole description. The sighing. She was thinking about—

Did he really get worked up over nothing?

Oh, god.

He can already imagine Plagg guffawing at him. He’ll never hear the end of it. From both of them. Maybe even Tikki, too; surely she heard the whole thing.

He hurriedly gropes for something to say as a recovery, something suave and debonaire or even a substandard pun or, screw it, something cheesy Mamoru Chiba might say. All the while, Marinette is still looking all sultry, as if she’s a wielder some sort of ancient power—which she is, if you think about it—and she trails a finger down his throat until it hits the bell on his neck. She’s the one pinned under him, but he is the one who is utterly and completely at her mercy.

“Stop talking about Tux Boy,” she whispers, and starts to _pull_. The slow, sharp click-clack of his zipper disturbs the silence of the room, and ricochets between his ears.

Then, like lightning, it comes to him.

“Hey, we should be Sailor Moon and Tuxedo Mask sometime.”

The click-clacking stops.

It’s Marinette’s turn to blink. “What?”

“I mean, you would actually be really cute with your hair in double buns. And I already give you roses, anyway…”

“Chat Noir, I swear, if you start with the rose puns—“

“But, My Lady, it would be irresponsible to not take the opportunity if it arose! No need to be thorny.”

She groans, and it’s not the sexy kind, but there’s an undertone of amusement that only he can detect, and it squeezes his heart and makes him giddy. “Where would we even—“

“There’s a few months until Japan Expo, so have time to— OH! Oh, wait. Ladybug and Chat Noir can show up as Sailor Moon and Tuxedo Mask. It’s like… Mask-ception! And then people would come up to you and ask if you’re Ladybug, right? And then I could swoop in and go, ‘What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet!’”

“That’s it,” she says, shoving him off of her. Despite her force, he still catches the smile she’s fighting to keep down. “You’re leaving.”

“And do what? Moon around?”

“Go home, Chat Noir.”

“‘And from the rooftops, arose such a clatter…’”

“OUT!”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr: http://sarahcada.tumblr.com/post/139476759315/of-tuxedos-and-masks


End file.
